


Fool for You 2

by oOAchilliaOo



Series: Fool for You [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 17:33:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5834467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oOAchilliaOo/pseuds/oOAchilliaOo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She could still taste him on her lips. Still smell his scent. Still feel the ghost of his arms around her. <br/>She could barely believe it. </p>
<p>This time Evelyn mused on Cullen's kiss. Meanwhile Cullen muses on Evelyn's kiss and their time leading up to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fool for You 2

She could still taste him on her lips. Still smell his scent. Still feel the ghost of his arms around her. 

She could barely believe it. 

Oh, she had had lovers before sure, more that she’d ever admit to, in fact. All of them had been brief tempestuous affairs conducted in the secret hidden places of the Circle and cut short by the ever looming threat of Templar discovery. In most cases neither she nor her lover had been willing to risk their lives, or even worse, the brand for each other. But this? This was different in every way. If she had to, she’d face down a hundred Templars for him, to stay with him, always. She’d face Corypheus down a hundred thousand times if she had to. 

She honestly hadn’t thought it was possible. 

The thought of him had driven her crazy over the last few weeks, and she had probably devoted more time than she should have to dissecting his actions. 

It had started with the chess game. He’d said that he’d appreciated the distraction, and that had given her the confidence to suggest that they spend more time together. He’d replied that he liked that idea, which had set the butterflies churning in her stomach. They’d started meeting more frequently after that, outside of matters pertaining to the Inquisition. 

At first it had been a couple of chess games every week, in which she’d had to come up with ever more inventive ways of cheating. She had still never won a single game yet, that had never mattered. 

Then she’d tentatively invited him to share her and Dorian’s weekly bottle of wine. At the time, she’d told herself that it was because he and Dorian seemed to get along so well, but really she’d always known that it was just a way of spending even more time with him. 

He’d then invited her out hunting with him, Bull and the Chargers. She hadn’t been very good at riding (she still wasn’t) and he’d ended up spending most of the hunt giving her an impromptu horse riding lesson. She still felt a little bit guilty about that but he hadn’t seemed to mind in the least. 

Eventually she’d started to crave his presence. When he was relaxed he was more generous with both his laughter and his smiles and she loved to see him happy. He had a serious but realistic view of the world; he was not the type to lean towards blind idealism and she’d come to value that about him. He had no patience whatsoever with nobility and completely failed to see why they should be given any kind of special treatment. His simplistic view in this regard charmed her. 

She’d realised that he was positively full of hilarious ‘Templar in training’ ‘comrades in arms’ type of stories and she’d taken every opportunity to tease just one more out of him. He also had a certain kind of dry wit of a type she’d never encountered in anyone before, but which she had grown to love. Somehow, without her quite realising how or why, his office became her first port of call whenever she returned to Skyhold. He always greeted her with a delighted smile and a willing ear as she recounted her adventures.

She’d slowly started to believe that he cared for her. Perhaps not quite as deeply as she was coming to care for him, but cared none the less. 

Then there had been the time that he hadn’t been in his office when she returned. She’d found him in the armoury arguing with Cassandra and had tracked him back to his office after. When he’d told her what he’d experienced in Kinloch Hold, the urge to run to him and wrap her arms around him had been almost impossible to resist and yet she somehow had. Instead she’d made a somewhat bungled effort to explain that she cared for him, that she believed he could do this and he’d seemed to listen to her but then…nothing. 

He’d stopped coming to share wine with her and Dorian, had stopped seeking her out whenever his duties permitted, had even stopped their chess games. She hadn’t (she still didn’t) understand why, had she been mistaken? Did he not care for her at all beyond her role as Inquisitor? She’d been hurt and upset, though she was fairly confident she hadn’t let it show. He too had seemed completely unaffected by their abrupt separation. Eventually she’d even stopped coming to his office immediately following her return simply because he’d stopped smiling at her when she did. 

She missed it, she’d missed him.

Weeks later she had, quite by chance, come across him on the battlements and had asked him if he was feeling better. He’d replied that he was but, Maker, the way he’d looked at her - all tenderness and wonder - had set her heart racing. That he’d then thought to ask after her own health, something no-one else had probably even thought of, had caused all the feelings she’d been having for him, the ones that weren’t gone, never gone, but that she’d buried, hidden in light of his distance, to come rushing to the surface and she hadn’t been able to take it anymore. 

The doubt, the uncertainty, the not knowing if he felt the same had all been too much. So the next day, the very next day, she’d practically stormed into his office and asked him if they could talk. Alone. 

She was now so very very glad that she had. 

And, Maker, the way he had kissed her. No one had ever kissed her like that. At first he’d taken it from her, hot and greedy and fast, swallowing her surprised gasp and pressing himself against her. Then he’d softened his kiss, becoming sweet and tender until his lips were barely caressing her own. If she could have melted into him in that moment she would have. That he’d apologised was almost as funny as it was sweet. What woman could have said no to that? They’d stayed on the battlements for some time exchanging tender, sweet, exploratory kisses. She would have stayed there all day if she could but eventually, he had huskily suggested that they move. 

“Are you suddenly feeling self-conscious, Commander?” she had retorted. How she had managed not to say that she could have stayed there all day, she would never know. 

He’d simply chuckled. “It is more that I do not trust myself to continue,” he’d growled in response, appraising her with a sultry smouldering look that had sent heat pooling in her belly. 

She’d been capable of no response other than gasping which in turn had caused a self-satisfied smirk to spread across his face. That hadn’t helped her situation at all. He’d stepped away from her then and she’d wanted more than anything to reach out and pull him back to her but now that her vision was no longer filled with him she became aware of the number of guards patrolling the battlements. He’d started rubbing the back of his neck, possibly becoming aware of the same thing. They’d shared a nervous laugh and had begun to walk back to his office. 

“Might I… Might I dine with you tonight?” he’d asked her tentatively as they’d approached the door. “Alone,” he’d clarified, though he hadn’t needed to. 

“I would… like that,” she’d replied. Fully aware that she was flushing horrendously under his gaze. They’d parted ways with one last chaste kiss and she had immediately retreated to her rooms to sprawl on the bed, giddy and excited and happy.

Maker, was she happy. 

He’d kissed her

He’d kissed her. 

*

He could still taste her on his lips. Still smell the scent of her hair. Still feel the way she’d melted into his arms. 

He could barely believe it. 

Oh, he’d had lovers before sure, few and far between though they may have been. One dalliance while at the Chantry, which had mostly been the result of a young boy noticing that girls were not as disgusting as he’d previously believed and were, actually, on the whole, rather pleasant. A ridiculous crush which had caused him so much pain and suffering it had almost permanently stopped him from pursuing any kind of close relationship. 

Then, when he’d been a bit less angry and a bit less jumpy and a bit less likely to punch her in his sleep, a single but fairly lengthy liaison in Kirkwall, which had been more physical than anything else. He could certainly now no longer remember even her surname, had known no details of her daily life but thankfully remembered everything she’d taught him about women.

But this? This was different in every way. He wanted her, yes, but not just in a physical sense. He wanted all of her, and to give her every part of himself. All of it. She could have anything and everything she wanted of him simply by asking. This time he didn’t want to keep a part of himself back from her. 

He honestly hadn’t thought it was possible. 

The thought of her had driven him crazy over the last few weeks, and he had probably devoted more time than he should have to dissecting her actions. 

It had started with the chess game, when she’d told him that they should spend more time together. In truth he had been so surprised that she would want to spend more time with him that he’d barely been able to check his reaction. Somehow, he’d managed to reply with an ‘I would… like that’ instead of the yes, yes, oh Maker, YES that had shot through his brain a moment prior. She’d become a regular chess partner of his after that. She always cheated, but spotting her attempts and counteracting them had kept him on his toes, and the more outrageous her cheat the more they laughed together. 

Then she’d invited him to share wine with her and Dorian. Perhaps she felt guilty for usurping Dorian’s place as his chess partner, though at the time he’d hoped it was because she sought his company. Either way he was just happy to spend even more time with her. 

He began to miss her while she was away. When she was gone Skyhold seemed darker, somehow less joyful. He always had so much to do that he’d never really taken note of her absence before, asides from the decrease in war room meetings, yet now he actively missed her.

He’d missed her so much that the next time she’d returned, he’d invited her out on the hunt with Bull and his Chargers. He’d really wanted to suggest something for just the two of them, but hadn’t thought she’d want to ride out alone with him. It had worked out favourably though. She’d been adorably incapable of commanding the horse in any way, and that had given him the perfect opportunity to remain behind with her in order to give her an impromptu horse riding lesson. She’d fallen into the snow twice during their ‘lesson’ and he’d needed to lift her back into the saddle each time. He hoped she’d enjoyed that part as much as he had. 

As they spent more time together, he’d discovered more about her and each new discovery only seemed to make him care for her that little bit more. Her smile had always been bright and she had always been generous with it. Yet he came to realise that, when she was truly happy, the smile came accompanied with a certain sparkle in her eyes that was, if anything, brighter than the smile itself. 

She’d get really passionate about a particular topic, a book she loved, a play, or a tune, whatever. As she spoke of it her cheeks would flush just that little bit, she’d gesticulate wildly and she’d talk so fast that sometimes it was hard to understand her. He found it fascinating that her passion for the subject manifested itself so easily through her looks, her speech and her gestures. 

She never hid anything, he realised, at least not when she was amongst her friends or those she trusted. When she was happy she laughed; when she was sad, she cried and she had no real issues sharing those emotions with the world. He found it endearing, though it had the added complication of creating, in him, an innate desire to protect her from all those who would use such openness against her. She had a certain…innocence? No. Not innocence, she knew how the world worked, it was more a… deeply held belief that the world was basically good. That she still seemed to believe that despite everything she’d seen was perhaps one of the most amazing things about her. It was certainly the thing that made her the leader she was. 

She had such a wonderfully positive view on things that it made her stories a delight to listen to and when, for some still undiscovered reason, she began to visit him before any other upon her return he was both delighted to see her and eager to hear her recount her adventures in that thrilled passionate way she always did. 

He’d slowly started to believe that she might care for him. Perhaps not quite as deeply as he was coming to care for her, but cared none the less. 

Then she had gone away for longer, two months or maybe it had been three. He’d spent the time petrified out of his mind for her, even more so than usual because getting messages to and from the Western Approach was difficult and her updates had been sporadic at best. 

He’d had… a particularly bad few days, barely sleeping thanks to the nightmares, a headache drilling at the base of his skull that had not let him be for even a moment over the past week and always always below it the terrible absence of the lyrium song, and the sweet promise that if he just gave into it, all the pain would stop. Then the shakes had started, and the muscle cramps. 

He had twice been forced to lock himself in his office while the pain thundered through him, a weak, pathetic mess shaking on his office floor. After the second fit the headache had intensified. He’d barely been able to hear or speak, let alone think, and if he couldn’t think straight what was he doing running an army? His command was jeopardizing the lives of tens of thousands of men and yet he remained out of a selfish desire to atone? How was that better? How would he help? 

Ultimately he hadn’t been able to stand it any longer and had gone to Cassandra, more or less demanding that she remove him from duty. She’d stubbornly refused and he’d been in too much pain to properly articulate the suffering he was experiencing. So they had just argued. 

Then just about the worst person he would ever want to see him in that state had entered. Her boots were still dusty from the road, no doubt she’d gone to his office, discovered he was absent and come to find him here. He’d been so utterly embarrassed, mortified even and he’d slipped out almost immediately muttering a plea for her to forgive him for his selfishness, not that he thought he was deserving of it, not that he’d thought she would. 

Later the sweet concern in her eyes had had him spilling all that had transpired in short order. From Kinloch Hold to Kirkwall he’d told her everything, in harsh angry words that he’d practically barked at her. Amazingly she had neither fled nor chastised him. She should have, she could have done either. Yet her only action had been to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder and inform him, in no uncertain terms, that he could do this, that he could resist. 

He had not been able to bear the thought of seeing the concern she showed him turn to pity once she realised how far he had fallen. Let her think that that was his worst moment, if he stayed away from her she would never know that it was not. Besides how could she care for him now? Now she knew him for the broken, angry, haunted man he really was? He was certain she would try to find some way to help him, her kind nature would permit nothing else, but he did not want to become another burden on her. Another problem for her to fix. He had his duty, his command, his own internal battle to fight and he could do all three without troubling her. 

And she deserved better. 

So he withdrew. He stopped going to share wine with her and Dorian. Stopped seeking her out. Stopped their chess games. He tried to do so gently, tried to give an explanation without explaining the real reason. He wasn’t sure he’d succeeded but he’d seen no sign of hurt or upset in her outward demeanour. She was probably glad, he reasoned, glad that she wouldn’t have to deal with him, fix him. 

But he missed her. Despite his best efforts he’d missed her so much. It was hardest when she came to his office, her face flushed, eyes brilliant as she spilled forth stories of her adventures. Beautiful. So achingly beautiful that he’d only been able to prevent himself from gathering her up into his arms and kissing the breath out of her by staying stoically behind his desk and refusing to meet her eyes. 

And eventually she’d stopped coming. 

Weeks later, he’d been feeling much better. Aside from her absence, which tormented him with its necessity, he was doing much better. Having a cause to fight for helped. Especially one he could wholeheartedly believe in. Having a purpose that he didn’t need to feel conflicted about gave him direction, strength and he needed that. Friends helped as well. He’d almost forgotten what having real friends felt like and now he seemed to have several. A motley crew of misfits to be sure and yet, somehow, it worked. He felt… not quite happy - there was a long way to go before he’d be happy in himself again - but… contented. He felt contented. He’d even, at Cassandra’s and Dorian’s and Josephine’s and Leliana’s insistence begun eating properly again, training, bathing taking care of himself up to and including taking regular breaks from his duties. He’d been taking a walk along the battlements, enjoying the scenery, and marvelling at being able to do so without any niggling aches or pains making themselves known when she’d found him. 

She’d asked him if he was feeling better and he’d replied that he was, but he hadn’t wanted to waste their first real conversation in weeks on delving into his aliments and his past. So instead he’d asked her how she’d been, realising as he did so that she perhaps carried even more burden than he did. He had no idea if the mark on her hand still pained her, but it had certainly done so in the beginning. He wondered if anyone besides him had ever thought to ask her how she was. Judging by the worry, fear, and anxiety she’d confessed to him he’d thought perhaps not. She’d seemed so vulnerable, so small. He’d wanted nothing more than to gather her up into his arms and shield her from the world. 

Talking with her like that. It had reminded him how much he liked her, cared for her, even… Well, it had been best not to think of that at the time. But he had. Of course he had. Old fantasies that he’d tried his very best to bury over the last few weeks had resurfaced. She’d burst into his office, breathless and desperate and needy for him. She’d shyly confess to him that she’d always loved him under the starlight in Skyhold’s courtyard. He’d corner her in some hitherto undiscovered alcove in Skyhold and seduce her in some devilishly charming and improbably romantic way and she’d allow him to taste her and…

And she’d burst into his office. 

He’d been startled. And nervous. And awfully worried that he was either dreaming or that she’d somehow heard his thoughts. She’d asked if they could talk and they had, but he’d stumbled haltingly over the words he wanted to say and the words he felt he should say and words that were not enough and yet too much. 

Then somehow, impossibly, despite everything, she was in his arms and he was leaning into her and she was letting him and at any moment he’d know if her taste matched the taste she had in his fantasies and…

And he’d nearly killed Jim on the spot. 

Jim had almost immediately realised his mistake and Cullen had watched him back away with a sinking feeling in his gut, somehow he knew that he would never have this chance again. That there would never be a more perfect time. He was a mass of conflicting desires, part of him wanted to make some excuse and slink away. Part of him wanted to apologise for the interruption and go back to exactly where they had been. Part of him wanted to clarify and explain and talk about what had been about to happen. A part of him, yes, a really large part of him wanted to go and throw a punch or two Jim’s way. 

In the end, he’d done the only thing that made any real sense and had simply taken what he wanted. What he’d wanted for so long. 

She tasted exactly as he’d dreamed she would and yet at the same time better than he’d ever imagined. It had taken his poor overloaded brain some time to tell him that perhaps he shouldn’t have simply seized her like that and he’d immediately tried to soften his hold, his kiss. He’d been about to pull away, apologise, beg her forgiveness, plead temporary insanity but then she’d started kissing him back and he’d been all but lost. 

Because she’d kissed him back. 

He couldn’t have torn himself from her lips then for all the gold, power, and riches in Thedas. 

The apology when they’d eventually parted had been instinctual. It wasn’t like him to just… take like that. But then she’d looked up at him, shy yet somehow coy and had told him in the same shy yet coy way that that had been what she’d wanted from him. 

He’d almost combusted on the spot, it had certainly been hard to breathe and he’d done the only thing he could think of. The only thing that his blood, heart, brains and soul wanted at that moment. 

He’d kissed her again.

And again. 

And then he’d realised they were on the battlements. In full view. Of everyone and, Maker, if he kissed her one more time he might never be able to stop. 

Later, in his office, it had taken some time and an extraordinary force of will to wipe the smile from his face. After all it wouldn’t have been appropriate for the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces to walk about the castle grinning like the love-sick fool he’d somehow become. But he carried the secret bundle of joy in his heart all day. 

Because, Maker, was he happy. 

She’d kissed him.

She’d kissed him.


End file.
